


The Last Lighthouse

by Seaneta



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Community: hannibalkink, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Molestation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 02:41:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4462337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seaneta/pseuds/Seaneta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal Kink Meme Prompt:<br/>Episode 3x07. After Cordell administers the paralytic to Will, he just can't resist the sight of him. Will is such pretty toy, why waste an opportunity to play with it? The face removal will have to wait. Will can feel everything but is completely helpless. </p>
<p>+Bonus points if Hannibal either arrives during the assault, or right after and uncharacteristically loses his shit. A violent death follows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Lighthouse

**Author's Note:**

> I changed some aspects of this scene for sake of the prompt, and that includes the fact that Mason is present, but knocked out. 
> 
> haahhh, would you believe me if I said my hand slipped while writing this? Totally sure someone can do better with this wicked prompt, but I couldn't resist.

_I was adamant it was your face I wanted. I was looking at your face while you were watching me cut mine off and I thought, ‘Oh, that’s a nice face’._

Plastic curtains were set into a tightly knit square, making anything beyond their clouded walls blurry and abstract. It didn’t help Will’s disposition, this fun house of sadism finally reaching its threshold with a bizarre operation that would kill him. Mason Verger, the ring leader of the circus, was but a few feet away, unconscious and sedated in a devilish red hospital gown, fondly dreaming of his new complexion once waking up.

If someone had told him getting thrown off a train was the least of his worries, Will would have shrugged as though to say _so what?_ He was after one of the most elusive and elegant serial killers, there was bound to be blood. He knew that. What he didn’t know, what he couldn’t predict was just how much blood would be his. He had been shot in his shoulder, promptly drugged, had his forehead hacked into by a buzz saw. And that was all before Muskrat Farm, where he learned Alana had helped Mason Verger into abducting both Hannibal and himself. Where his body was not his to dress, move, feel free of any pain.

And now as Will lay strapped to a hospital chair, soon his own face wouldn’t be his either.

He stared with vacant eyes, the dim overhead light slowly blinding him. He couldn’t move his head, it was trapped in a metal harness with a strap secured tightly along his hairline. Thick and heavy fastenings wrapped around his torso, barely allowing the slightest fidget.

A man he only knew by the name Cordell gingerly pressed two patches against his bare chest, the small wires attached to a machine. A quiet beeping filled the room.

“A steady heartbeat.” The wide man adjusted the tips of his latex gloves. He loomed over the bound man. The nurse picked up a narrow syringe from a nearby cart. “This will immobilize your body, but you’ll feel everything. I’m going to cut off your face without anesthesia, Mr. Graham.”

He found a vein in the valley of Will’s elbow and he watched the other man’s subtle flinch as the warm drug seeped into his system like a swarm of parasites. The range of expression William possessed was incredible to watch. Such a shame it would soon go to waste. As charismatic as his boss was, Mr. Verger would not be able to pull off Will's majestic ruggedness.   

A soft grunt pushed out of Will’s throat as he felt an immediate and suffocating heaviness to his body. His bloodstream was on fire as the drug rampaged through his system. He could see his limbs, they weren’t held down under a skid of bricks, but they weren’t his to control. He tried to flex an arm, move a finger, but the drug was fast acting and strong.

“That slow cardiac rhythm will cease, I can assure you.”

Will focused on the words, trying to ground himself. There was a strange rhythm to Cordell’s speech, something almost campy. Despite the horror of the situation, Will imagined this man with a passion for theater, eventually choosing to settle on the psychotic killer persona. And as he made incision dashes with a marker around the perimeter of Will’s face, smiling, Will knew it was the perfect role for him.

The heart monitor caught a palpitation. This wasn’t, exactly, how Will imagined he would die.

As Cordell checked the monitors and rolled the cart carrying his scalpels, he eyed the pale man trapped in his chair. Everything was in place, the pieces were in order, and Mr. Verger was asleep. He had time to spare, to admire. This was his little sanctuary to do what he pleased, in respect to Mr. Verger of course, but his colleague was unconscious for the moment. Would be for another three hours. More than enough time.

This was Will's fault for being so helpless. So beautiful. 

Cordell brought himself closer to Will’s face. His features were sharp, pretty and unique like a model, even prettier since Mason made sure his skin was constantly moisturized. He had model looks, yes, but he could sense the darkness within him. Intrigued, the man leaned in for a closer look, ignoring Will’s bewildered eyes, and brought a latex hand to cup Will’s chin. Such a strong jaw line and pouting lips. Even in his motionless state, there was something about the pretty boy that demanded attention.

He traced Will’s face, the contours and bridge of his nose. The nurse looked back at Mason, at peace in his drugged coma, and he made his decision. No one, but perhaps Mr. Verger himself, could have predicted such a firestorm of desperate desire blazing within the refined caretaker.

Quickly, but maintaining a certain grace, Cordell peeled off his gloves, not wanting any sort of material to separate him from the Graham boy. He brought himself even closer to Will’s flawless face as the man gave a strangled grunt, and glided his hands along the smooth, pale skin. His biting fingers were deceivingly elegant, and as they encircled Will's fragile forearms and swam down, Will flinched, loosely recalling how distant the nurse had been when they were first introduced. He began to breathe laboriously in tune to the racing heart monitor.

Graham was unable to vent his panic with the drug swimming through him. Leaning lower, nearly pressing himself against Will’s chest, Cordell inhaled his apprehension, dropping a tongue and giving a temperate lick. The pink muscle caressed the curves of Will’s neck. The sweetness there was just a tease.

The surgery could wait a little longer indeed. Mr. Verger knew of Cordell’s urges, his certain…tastes. He was practically begging to abuse Dr. Lecter’s boy toy by setting up this precise situation.

Cordell closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the taste of Will in his mouth, before coming back to a stand. He smiled politely, plucking off the thin cotton patches on Will. The chaotically beeping monitor flat-lined before shutting down. He soothed Will like he was a startled cat, tenderly stroking his encased arm.

“I’m sure Mr. Verger wouldn’t mind if I indulged, William. May I call you William? You seem to be more of a first name type than one for…,” Cordell pressed against the man’s shadow of a mustache, momentarily distracted, “…formalities. Especially when one considers your awful table manners.”

He brought his free hand up with a magicians flourish, circling the still-tender bite wound on his cheek.

If Will could spit, he would. Right now, he had to settle for a heated glare which he hoped got the message across. He had been way passed the point of caring lately, but now he found himself struggling to remain calm. This wasn’t in Mason’s schedule. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Cordell smiled at the other man’s terror, watching as those pretty hazel brown eyes followed his roaming fingers. They weren’t clinical touches anymore, oh heavens no. He danced his hands down Will's glorious body. The skin was smooth, so soft. Cordell moved over Will’s bare chest, wiggling nails under the straps to feel the sensitive, rose-pink nipples. They contrasted against his pale skin, but Cordell was too absorbed in the feel of firm and supple flesh. Will squirmed in adamant objection to the touch, hisses coming out a gargles, and Cordell lowered himself once more to glide his fat tongue over Will’s breastbone. He stopped and swirled his tongue over the tip of Will’s nipple, before tracing the collarbone, sucking while making vulgar suction noises. He didn’t stop as he leaned over the lithe young man even more, working his way up to Will’s throat, jaw, and finally his lips.

Will’s entire body stung from the kiss. He wanted to recoil as Cordell’s body pressed as close as it could into his own. He felt his heart hammering, the urge to vomit incredibly high. The man twisted a hand up in Will’s tossed hair, yanking at a painful angle to earn a high-pitched, smothered groan from Will. He imagined it was a moan as he nipped at Will’s pouty lips, tasting the sweetness of a most elusive sugar. Cordell pulled away eventually, licking the lingering flavor along his mouth.

Will was stone-still, the only part of him able to reveal any panic were his wide eyes and heaving breaths. The man was dazed from his kiss, it certainly wasn’t the drug or violating surprise. Not that the true cause mattered, really; either way, he was behind all of it. Will was his blank canvas to do what he pleased; he just couldn’t mark up Will’s face enough for Mr. Verger to ask questions.

Will was powerless to stop Cordell’s vile advances, and he despised himself for being so weak. He watched thick fingers trace the scar along his stomach, circle his navel, as his other hand twirled and twisted his hair, making it even more tangled than the worse bedhead. Will shivered unexpectedly, unable to turn away in his harness. As much as Cordell shifted and loosened the straps, it didn’t matter; he was still paralyzed. The fuel for embarrassment was in full swing, however, as he felt himself turning red at such an intimate proximity with the nurse.

Cordell continued to nibble and lick at Will’s neck, making the chair squeak as he pressed himself against the warm body below him. He couldn’t reach those little ears with the rig in the way, but his hands could. He fingered the helix of the soft skin, manhandling Will’s paralyzed body with teeth puncturing the throat's pulse point, the other hand fondling an nipple and feeling goosebumps. The man was an addiction. Never had Cordell tasted, possessed such a pretty thing in his hands.

Will’s mouth opened in a silent shout as Cordell tongued over his nipple, bathing it with his saliva as he brought a hand to flick the other teasingly. Both awoke to his touches, hardening to a near point. The nurse looked up, admiring the perfect flush across both of Will’s cheeks.

_Cordell, keep him pretty for me._

Oh, there was never a need for that. Mr. Graham was beautiful already, even with his scars.

Will watched, breathless, panicked, when the nurse slipped his free hand down his chest, between both their bodies, and glided it between Will’s legs.

“You will be sure to let me know if this hurts, won’t you?” The soft chuckle made what might have been a thoughtful gesture into something malicious.

Will could only respond with a labored breath. Cordell took it as eager consent.

He adjusted the strap along Will’s hips, loosening them enough so he could slacken the man’s trousers. He had dressed the young man numerous times already, but he had been surrounded by others, mainly Mr. Verger, and he couldn’t allow such indecent behavior in front of polite company. And Cordell wouldn’t even admit this to himself, but any time he so much as groomed Will’s hair or bandaged an injury, he could feel the heated gaze of Dr. Lecter upon him. It was…unsettling with its intensity.

No, as he roughly teased Will’s flaccid length beneath his pants, he knew they were alone here. No interruptions. No other company.

Will’s chest rose and fell in a quick rhythm with his anxiety, watching Cordell with a pained expression. His eyes were wide. He envisioned himself overpowering the drug, breaking free of the bonds, and gutting Cordell with one of his own scalpels. Will succeeded in none of that. He could feel the hand stroke his soft cock, his own fingers slightly twitching against the armrests. He wanted to run. Flee. His body was sedated, but his mind was wide awake. He could feel everything. He’d throw up if he was sure he wouldn’t choke on the bile.

When a wide finger dipped just inside his entrance, Cordell released his hold on Will’s nipple. He leaned up and over, an odd but tolerable positioning, to feel the body under him, as he slid into the velvet, yielding heat of Will. He did it so roughly that the man's lower body jerked upwards in the chair. Cordell could feel Will tighten around his finger and he grunted appreciatively. He basked in the man's tearful eyes as Will forced a silent plea, his lips trying in vain to form the desperation in his throat.  _STOP!_

Will’s strangled grunts became synonymous with his hyperventilation, sweat making his back and the undersides of his knees uncomfortably hot.

“You’re as tight as a newborn, William.” The larger man murmured against him, his other arm propping him on the chair with Will so he could watch the man’s beautiful reactions. “Your morals are skewed, so horribly skewed.” He teased.

Will tried to open his mouth to protest, to shout for help, but Cordell leaned closer and he placed a finger upon those pretty pink lips. He entered and exited Will’s warm passage, feeling the friction and knowing the pain must Will must have felt. Tears collected in the man’s eyes, making them glossy and in danger of spilling. He fucked dear William, fast and deep, and the man's mouth parted in a silent scream of revulsion and regret and Cordell began to lap at the water-stained cheeks. He caught the tears that trickled down in a thin rivulet; Mr. Verger was rubbing off on him. 

“Horrible,” he continued, tsking, “I will soon cut off your face and slowly kill your friend, William, and yet here you are. Allowing me to do this to you.” He plunged in and out of Will, his hand hidden beneath the thin fabrics, and he added another finger. Will let out a long, suffering groan in his throat, obviously meant to be much louder, much more like a bellow. Cordell scissored and crisscrossed, stretching him out as he studied William’s eyes, his constantly buckling throat. The tears ran free now, trailing over the small scabs on his cheeks. Cordell felt the hot walls gripping his fingers, not barricading him out, no, Will didn’t have enough control for that. This was something else, a reflex.

The pain was comparable to being gutted in Hannibal’s kitchen.

_Hannibal_ , at least with him he had given Will something to numb the pain before cutting through his head. Offered the choice, Will would take the cannibal over a sadistic man any day.

“Oh, William…” He moaned, pressing harder against the hairless, smooth chest that was Mr. William Graham. He didn’t understand the obsession, but he didn’t have to. He followed his instinct and it was rarely wrong. Will grunted, tears blinding him as he grit his teeth. Will's discomfort only served to arouse him further and he renewed the violation between Will's legs with such vigor that the chair began to creak beneath them. The smaller man couldn't move, couldn't scream --an enchanting siren without a voice--and Cordell smiled, his yellowish-green eyes gleaming with greedy intention. 

Oh, Jesus, Will was ready to die. He accepted his fate back in Florence at Hannibal’s dinner table. Humiliation roared in every drugged cell of his body, unparalleled disgust at Cordell’s weight on top of him, something hard and stiff against his hip. Will wasn’t sure at first what Cordell was doing in the beginning, but he now he could envision the end result.

Will gave a loud, clear as Cordell continued to ravage inside him, nails grating against sensitive walls. He struggled to move, to thrash in the chair, to wiggle a toe or eyebrow. The drug was measured and dosed precisely, Cordell having exploited the injection. Will was left with just enough strength to give pathetic jerks that looked more like flinches. He cursed loudly and constantly in the depths of his mind. This was a new hell. He never thought he’d pray for _just_ a face removal before death.

“I’m so glad we have this time together. You’re so perfect, William.”

Will felt his insides churn and grow cold from the confession, it reminding him of some sort of fatal attraction syndrome.

Cordell continued to pump in and out of Will, loosening the tight ring of muscle, finding himself panting as he gave a quick, impulsive lick to Will’s cheek. He loved the sweat gleaming on his skin, when he tried to scream, how his fingers danced as they tried to clench into fists, his eyes screwing shut. The way Will's mouth was pink and wet as he panted for air. Most of all, he loved the way Will was hot and tight, drawing him in. 

When he was first introduced to Mr. Vergers captives, Cordell had been completely unprepared for such a meeting --there Mr. William Graham was, trapped beside his partner in crime so to speak, disheveled but a perfect bloody mess. His heart had pounded within its cage, marveling at the skin that seemed to refresh his parched eyes like cool water in a desert. Cordell knew, in that very moment of eyeing Graham swaying in the truck, that he would have him.

And now he did.

___ 

He had promised Alana that he would save Will, as though it was something he hadn’t before considered. He tasted the relief that washed over her conscious the second he agreed. From the moment they arrived in the meat truck, it had been Hannibal’s utmost intention to get Will as far away from Mason’s grasp as possible. He just waited for the opportune moment, the inevitable meeting between a desperate Margot or a guilty Alana. The strings had been set the second both he and Will arrived on the farm.

The clothes were ill fitting, uncomfortable against the sweat and bloody cuts along his body. The guard in the animal housing certainly didn’t need the garments anymore, nor did the man’s friends need their brain matter, which Hannibal made sure to splatter against the walls. Arguably, it was his last night alive, or as a free man, and he felt no reason for restraint nor had the time for lethal sophistication as he swept through the Verger estate in search for Will.

He spotted the makeshift operation area in the middle of a marble atrium, one prominent shadow through the foggy curtain definitely moving. He gripped the bloody hammer tighter in his hand, walking forward with the absence of shoes. His approach was silent, but his entrance was not. There wasn’t a need for a surprise assault, just an unexpected arrival. Cordell had a disadvantage of being slow.

Hannibal pushed aside a section of the plastic drape, rounding the hammer and preparing for a swing-- but paused mid-strike.

For a moment, he wasn’t even sure what he was looking at. It was too upsetting. Primed to find Cordell in the preparations of a surgery, a much more… _lewd_ operation was taking place instead. Cordell’s hands weren’t anywhere near Will’s face, though his eyes seemed to drink in every detail of it.

Will was overexposed to horror and sadistic pleasure, drained from recent events to the point he took Mason’s reveal of a face transplant with a straight-faced shrug at dinner. Hannibal felt the same exhaustion stir in his stomach from the entire drawn-out situation, but the outcome wasn’t indifference like Will. It had always been a mild amusement. Now it was wrath, hot and fuming.

It overwhelmed him like the paralyzer currently overwhelming Will. Mason’s _lackey_ was touching Will like he was something worthless on a city street.

Cordell didn’t see the hammer as it crashed into him. It smashed mercilessly against his neck, directly into his innards, sending the entire body off Will and toppling to the floor. He fell with a loud thud, like a bag of sand.

Hannibal was barely conscious of his immediate reaction as he positioned himself over the dying man and ripped the weapon out of Cordell’s throat with a grotesque _pop_. The man’s eyes were rolling, frantic, his brain not able to register or react properly. Blood pooled on the marble, flowing into the narrow crevices between each square. Hannibal brought the mallet back down, twice on the assaulting hand, numerous times against the side of Cordell’s skull before he would slip into death.

He punished the lowlife, his normally calculating mind only supplying one thought; _Will had been violated by this pig_.

Hannibal brought the hammer down one final time, hitting the crude man where it hurt the most. Cordell managed to scream, a horrible, gargled sound through the mangled throat, as he was castrated, screaming for all he was worth. To Hannibal, that was nothing. Eventually the lackey’s body ceased its violent spasms, the scream becoming weak and low. The pain was still strong, as Hannibal watched the begging eyes. His throat, or what remained of it, resembling something more like red and pink goo, continued to splurge out blood in rhythmic volumes. Within seconds, Cordell was dead.

Hannibal was close to the man, knees on the ground beside him, his entire body shaking from the momentum he still felt. Verger molesting Will was something he may have foreseen, he had even considered the possibility during dinner with their host. This, however, he did not anticipate. The offending hand was a mess of bone and red tissue, as it should be, Will was- _Will_.

Will took hold of his thoughts, grounding him again, and Hannibal turned behind to see the man. He was still on the chair, though the belts holding his body down were loosened enough for him to escape. He looked completely drained, chest still catching its breath, flushed cheeks drying fallen tears. He was conscious, but the small muscle spasms throughout his body told Hannibal he couldn’t move. He could certainly feel pain, however. Using his adrenaline, his still wildly surging energy, Hannibal reached up to grab a few surgical knives and scalpels. Luckily, he hadn’t damaged Cordell’s face in his rage too much.

His precision wasn’t exact as he made the cuts, actually watching in awe as his fingers managed to shake as he worked. Only Will could do this to him, show him new sides to himself he thought didn’t exist.

It took longer than he hoped, and the job was mediocre, but he felt better for doing it. For both his and Will’s sake. He took the slab of skin, dropping a knife with a soft tumble, and marched over to the unconscious Mason. He still had a promise to keep for Alana, for Margot, but his first priority was Will Graham. It always was.

His sight bounced back to Will and he walked over to him, almost cautious, not wanting to send him back into a panic. The scene of Will, closer, would have sent another wave of unadulterated rage, if he had another offender to kill.

Will was dead, or, he felt dead. Like he was stuck in a tar pit and only moved enough to trap him even further. The world around him collapsed and he allowed it, his sore and battered body longing for rest and he finally permitted the luxury, despite being at the mercy of a deranged killer. He couldn’t move a finger anyhow.

But then… _smooth and familiar hands_ …came to undo the straps that held him in place.

Those same hands slowly reaching up to loosen the harness trapping his head. The recognition made him exhale, would have made him jump if it wasn’t for the drug. His heart thumped faster with dismay. Hannibal escaped and he found him. Hannibal saw him like this, helpless.

A rush of sickness passed over him as nausea made a triumphant comeback. The moment he could turn his head, Will promptly puked on the marble floor. It was Hannibal who brushed his hair back, Hannibal who gingerly stroked his bare back and carried the weight of his head on a cool hand. When he was done, when nothing more came out, Hannibal gently set Will back against the chair, and continued to free his limbs from the hospital straps. His touch was tender, kind, especially when Will felt a fabric -a shirt- pulling around his back and his arms sliding through the sleeves. Hannibal was dressing him. Hannibal was pulling the zipper of his pants and adjusting the waistband.

Suddenly his mind overloaded. Will couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move beyond rolling his eyes behind closed lids as he tried to groan, cry out, to release the overwhelming and indefinable feeling he was consumed with into a single noise. It wasn’t possible, his vocal cords were still useless. He was useless.

Hannibal watched Will as he freed him, his eyes softening with compassion. Will was slowly drifting back into the present, his head lulling as his eyes stared blankly above at the high ceiling. He slowly exhaled, lowering his head to his chest and snapping his eyes shut. His body trembled, cold, despite the room’s warmth and his new clothes. Hannibal stared, observing as Will tried to sit up and was unsuccessful.

He sighed, bowing his head, beyond frustration and anxiety. Then, slowly, Will opened his eyes and brought them to Hannibal’s. It was the first time he acknowledged the other man, first time since taking a bite out of Cordell at dinner.

Hannibal had helped, saved him. Yet it was surprising to find those deep brown eyes flooded with concern, staring at Will like he was Hannibal’s universe, the stars, the planets, and everything in between. It was such a tender focus that it took Will a while to adjust to seeing such a look from Hannibal. Tears welled up in his eyes and he couldn’t look away, wasn’t strong enough, so he bowed his head and tried to blink them away.

He heard quiet, quick steps from the foot of the chair, then felt Hannibal’s thumb coming to rest just below his eye. He shuddered from the contact, face twisting as a few more tears trailed down his face.

Hannibal leaned closer to him, cradling Will’s head and resting his forehead on his. He tried to find Will’s eyes and have them meet, but the other man rejected the idea. He wiped away a single teardrop before leaning away just a millimeter, staring at Will, his Will. “May I carry you?”

The question brought Will out of his own world, and he almost wanted to laugh when he remembered the situation.

“Y-es…” he barely whispered, finding it difficult to achieve any sort of strength or volume.

Hannibal nodded solemnly, exhaling as he readied his next move. “All right, then.”

He placed a hand along Will’s shoulder blades, wrapping under the man’s arms and slowly pulled him to a stand off the chair. Will grabbed onto Hannibal, groaning when he tried to stand. His legs couldn’t hold his weight, and the pain in his ass was sickening, unlike anything he had ever experienced before, even worse than getting shot in the shoulder. More tears stung his eyes, and Hannibal caught the wilted man in his arms. Will didn’t want to show him his bloodshot eyes, but Hannibal lifted him off the ground and into his grip, undeterred and resolute to get Will away from the scene.

Slowly, carrying Will in his arms, adjusting to the weight, they left the atrium and made an exit.

 

By the open doors of the Verger barn, Hannibal knelt down and cautiously propped Will against the wall. He gauged the man’s pinched features as he set him down, but it quickly simmered to his default impassiveness. He knew Will would pass out soon, unconsciousness teetering on a very thin railing, but Will had been stubbornly adamant wanting down. Even without words, the man had a way of influence; even if it was by weak elbow jabs instead.

Will could feel control coming back into his limbs as Hannibal had carried him. He could feel warm waves constantly rolling, making his body tingle and muscles spasm even more.

Hannibal was on his feet, crouched in front of Will and looking at him with curiosity and mild apprehension. Will managed on the second try to use his arm and draw Hannibal closer to him. He paused for a split second, realizing their dynamic had changed the moment he saved him, then softly brought Hannibal into a kiss.

He didn’t expect the gesture, stiffening slightly, but then leaned in, gently pressing Will against the wall as he did so. He moved his lips around Will’s, bringing his hands to the sides of Will’s face as he closed his eyes. The marker incisions smeared under his fingertips as he lovingly stroked the man, this he knew was a touch Will would allow, would cherish. They gripped each other as a snowfall softly sprinkled inside, letting the world freeze away into a frozen chill that they knew was exclusive to just the two of them.

Will’s kiss was thankfulness, it spoke nothing to Hannibal but pure gratitude. And he accepted the gift fully, as sincerely as its dispatcher.

When they broke apart, it was much later than either one of them expected. They stayed close, just a hair strand away, their eyes still closed in bliss, breathing in each other’s breath, until Will managed to break the silence.

“Thank you,” the whisper tickled Hannibal’s lips.

Snowflakes landed gently in both their hair and shoulders. With the blood that stained their skin and clothes, the scenery made them otherworldly, like the exit of the Verger barn was in fact an entrance to an ethereal sanctuary for just them. Hannibal would have this room, this moment etched into his mind palace. He already felt the walls building, the most minuscule details -the snowflakes landing on Will’s lashes- burning into his memory.

“Let’s take you home, Will.”

 


End file.
